The Transcript
by allthingsdecent
Summary: A flip-the-script on The Diary: Post Bombshells, Cuddy finds the transcripts to House's therapy sessions with Nolan.
1. Chapter 1

Cuddy didn't mean to find it.

Well, okay, she supposed that wasn't entirely true.

She _had_ opened the search engine. And she had typed in his name. But it was the equivalent of coming across a locked safe in an empty room, entering a random combination, and finding that it opened the door.

But now that she was staring at this giant, unexpected windfall, the question was: What was she going to do about it?

It had all started when Princeton Plainsboro joined a new digital data sharing program with some neighboring hospitals. The idea was, if a patient came to you who had been treated at a one of the participating hospitals, you had all his medical records at the click of a button.

One of the hospitals in the program? New Jersey Memorial, where Dr. Nolan had his private practice.

She couldn't resist, so she typed GREGORY HOUSE into the search engine.

She never expected to find anything. The program was only six months old. House hadn't been treated by Nolan in over a year.

But damned if his name didn't pop up.

At first she thought maybe it was a different Gregory House. But no, the attending doctor was Dr. Darryl Nolan. That was way too much of a coincidence.

Her next thought was that maybe Nolan had uploaded archived patient info.

But then she saw the date on the patient file: April 24, 2011, just a week ago.

_So House went to see Nolan after the breakup_, she thought. _Good for him. _

The temptation to click on the link, read the file, was almost overwhelming.

But how could she? It was a violation of everything she believed in: Her personal ethics. Her loyalty to House, despite it all. Not to mention the doctor-patient confidentiality law.

She closed the program and tried to focus on other things. She went over a budget report. She made a phone call to a potential donor. She even walked to the lounge to get herself a cup of coffee.

"I could've gotten that for you, Dr. Cuddy," her assistant, Anita, said.

"I felt like the walk," she said.

But nothing worked. She had to read that file. Maybe it would give her some closure, or at the very least some insight into House's recent behavior. House had been so affectionate toward her in the past several months—almost doting, by his own standards—she'd forgot how truly vicious he could be when he was angry. His behavior since the breakup—the whores, the immature stunts, that cruel sham of a marriage—had all been designed to humiliate and enrage her. But how would he explain himself to Nolan? Or would he. . .

So she clicked.

Patient Name: Dr. Gregory House

Age: 52

Notes: Patient underwent treatment for opiate addiction and hallucinations brought on by the addiction and depression in the summer and fall of 2009. Subsequently, patient was treated on an out-patient basis, from November 2009 to May 2010.

Patient has a genius IQ and a extreme skepticism about the therapeutic process. His tendency is to deflect, obfuscate, or joke when on the verge of a "breakthrough."

This doctor has found it is best not to try to match wits with him—a losing proposition—but to appeal to his sense of rationality and logic. He wants to be "happy" or at least "less miserable," as he once told me. Successful therapy can give him the tools to help him feel better. When possible, allow patient to draw his own summaries about the best course of his treatment.

Additional notes: On May 10, 2010, patient left therapy, claiming I was a "faith healer" with "nothing in [my] bag of tricks."

Patient made a surprise appointment on April 24, 2011.

For the purposes of this transcript, patient will be referred to as H and I [clinician] will be referred to as N.

Monday, April 24. 11 a.m.

H: Well, get it over with.

N: Get what over with?

H: The gloating.

N: What would I be gloating about?

H: The fact that I've come crawling back. Last time I saw you I was repudiating your entire profession and calling you a quack.

N: A faith healer, actually.

H: Better still. . . So go ahead. Tell me you told me so.

N: House, if you're reaching out for my help, I'm here for you. No gloating. No told-you-so's. You just have my support.

H: Lucky me.

N: So what brings you here?

H: The fact that my life is going so well and I've never been happier! Oh, wait. That's wrong.

N: What are you unhappy about?

H: How much time do you have? [_Patient picks up clock on desk, looks at it_]. Wait! I know the answer to that! 47 more minutes!

N: Let's not worry about the time. Let's just talk. Why did you come to see me today? Have you been hallucinating again?

H: No. What do you think I am? Crazy?

N: House. Might I remind you that you came to see me.

H: I'll count that as a tiny gloat. Now, finally, we can be honest with each other. My girlfriend dumped me and I'm back on vicodin.

N: I'm sorry to hear that.

H: Thank you. I'm cured!

N: Let's rewind a bit. Since when do you have a girlfriend?

H: Had. _Had _a girlfriend. What part of dumped don't you understand?

N: Tell me about her.

H: You already know all about her. Dr. Lisa Cuddy. Dean of Medicine. Firm of breast. Cold of heart.

Cuddy briefly looked away from the computer. They were about to start talking about her. It was not too late to close the file, continue on with her day. But she had to read more. . .

N: The last time I saw you, she was about to move in with her boyfriend. You were upset. What changed?

H: She and I shared a somewhat. . .emotional experience together. A crane explosion in Trenton. We lost patients. It was a rough night.

N: You bonded.

H: Something like that.

N: So she broke up with her boyfriend?

H: Her fiancée.

N: How soon after the breakup did she start dating you?

H: Half an hour?

N: What?

H: She came over that night. I was about to. . .relapse. And she told me she had dumped Lucas and that she loved me.

N: Wow. Those are pretty intense circumstances to begin a relationship under. How did that make you feel?

H: Orgasmic. But that might've just been all the orgasms I had.

N: So you two made love that night.

H: That night, the next morning. Early afternoon. Mid afternoon. . .

N: And then what?

H: Then we were both exhausted. We needed a few hours to recuperate. We're not machines!

N: I mean, after the initial rush of excitement, the sexual release, then how did you feel?

H: I felt great.

N: Great?

H: How else would I feel?

N: You tell me.

H: Have all your dreams ever come true?

N: Not many times, no.

H: Mine neither. But they did. And it felt great.

N: I would also imagine, that if my dreams came true, I would worry that maybe it was too good to be true. Did you have any such concerns?

[Patient does not make eye contact.]

H: Yes, I suppose. Later . . . I had some concerns along those lines.

N: So how long were you and Dr. Cuddy together?

H: About 10 months.

N: Congratulations, House.

H: And again I say, what part of SHE DUMPED ME, didn't you understand?

N: Ten months is a substantial amount of time. To me, that demonstrates you've come a long way since I first began treating you.

H: And now I've regressed.

N: Tell me about the relationship. Were you a good boyfriend?

H: If you're asking if I went down on her, yes I did.

N: Seriously House. I'm curious. Do you think you were a good boyfriend?

H: Are we grading on the curve here? By normal guy standards or by House standards?

N: Let's go with House standards.

H: I. . . tried. I tried really hard.

N: Did Dr. Cuddy think you were a good boyfriend?

H: Apparently not.

N: She must've thought so at first.

H: At first we were both on a sex high. Eventually, some real issues came into play.

N: Like what?

H: She occasionally thought I attended to my needs above hers.

N: Did you?

H: Not intentionally. But I suppose, sometimes. Yes.

N: Did you tell her you loved her?

H: (Inaudible.)

N: What?

H: All the time.

N: She has a daughter, right?

H: Rachel.

N: Did you have a good relationship with the child?

H: I don't know what any of this has to do with me being miserable right now.

N: I can't help you with where you're going if I don't know where you've been.

H: Christ. Did you read that on greeting card someplace?

N: It upsets you to talk about Rachel?

H: No. . .why would it upset me? She's a great kid.

N: You got close to her?

H: I liked spending time with her. Is that so hard to believe?

N: So you're saying that you miss her.

H: Yes, of course I miss her. But it's not like I'm losing sleep over it.

N: Okay.

H: You don't believe me?

N: All I said was okay.

H: That was a loaded okay.

N: Let's move on. Tell me about the breakup. What happened?

H: Dr. Cuddy got sick.

N: How sick?

H: She had a mass on her kidney. Then X-rays showed lung involvement.

N: Metastasized kidney cancer?

H: Look at you, acting like a real doctor! It's adorable! . . .Yes, that was our fear.

N: That's terminal.

H: We were wrong. The tumor was benign. The shadows on her lungs were an allergic reaction to antibiotic.

N: But you _thought_ she was going to die.

H: Yes I did.

N: And how did you handle that?

H: Poorly. It's safe to say I handled it poorly.

N: Meaning?

H: Meaning I . . did what I always do when I'm scared. I ran away.

N: You didn't visit her in the hospital, sit with her, hold her hand?

H: I did, eventually. But I needed some. . .help.

N: What kind of help?

H: Medicinal.

N: You took vicodin.

H: Ding-ding-ding! Give that man a medical license.

N: And Dr. Cuddy found out?

H: Yes.

N: Because you told her?

H: Hell no. Do you think I'm an idiot? She just. . .knew. Said it came to her in a dream.

N: So she broke up with you because you relapsed?

H: Yes.

N: Really?

H: Well, that's not how she put it. She said, and I quote, 'I didn't break up with you because of the pills. I broke up with you because of what the pills mean."

N: What did she think they meant?

H: That her kidney ailment may not be terminal but my selfishness is.

N: I'm very sorry you went through this, House. I wish you had come to see me sooner. Sometimes an illness is harder on a loved one than it is on the patient.

H: Tell me about it.

N: So what's the status of your relationship now?

H: Sometimes we take a brief break from not talking to each other so that we can yell at each other.

N: But you have to work together? She's still your boss.

H: Yes. I've tried to minimize my contact with her.

N: Still, that must be hard.

H: It blows.

N: I want to hear more about how you've coped with the breakup, but we're running out of time.

H: Of course.

N: And before I agree to treat you, we need to discuss the vicodin.

H: I need it.

N: No, you don't.

H: I'm in pain. Excruciating pain.

N: You managed the pain without vicodin for two years.

H: That was then, this is now.

N: I can't treat you therapeutically if you're addicted to drugs.

H: You did once before.

N: You were getting treatment. The therapy was part of the treatment. I want to admit you to an inpatient rehab center.

H: Forget it. I knew this was a mistake.

[Patient stands up. Starts to leave.]

N: House, you want help. That's why you came to me.

H: I want help with my misery, not with my …dependencies.

N: They're one and the same.

H: Then I guess I'll stay miserable.

[Patient puts his hand on the door.]

N: Wait!

H: What?

N: Inpatient rehab with weekend passes.

H: No.

N: Outpatient rehab.

H: No.

N: Okay, House. I'll treat you. Twice a week. And in three months, we'll reassess your need for rehab. Fair?

H: Fair.

N: I'll see you on Thursday then.

H: I'll see you then.

N: House, before you leave, can I ask you something?

H: I'm sure the rash will clear up on its own.

N: Cute. . . The last time you saw me, you expressed a certain disdain for therapy, to say the least. What made you change your mind?

H: I guess. . .the fact that it worked.

N: Worked?

H: I mean, it must've worked because Cuddy fell in love with me.

######

Cuddy felt her eyes well up with tears. Then she heard the sound of a man clear his throat.

She looked up, slammed her computer shut hastily, and turned a deep shade of crimson.

"Resorting to Internet porn already, Cuddy?" House said.

"I'm not. . ."

"You know, if you need dick that badly, I'd be happy to service you. We could have some sort of sex-for-clinic-duty arrangement."

She rubbed her eyes.

"What do you want, House?" she said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Nerve biopsy," he said, roughly tossing a file at her.

She caught it, read the file.

"And you're absolutely sure it's necessary?"

"No, it's just a really trendy procedure. Nerve biopsies are the new black."

"If you think it's necessary then. . . go do it."

"Thanks boss," he said, beginning to leave her office.

"House?" she said cautiously.

"Cuddy?" he said, leadingly.

"How are you?"

He looked at her, gave a derisive little snicker, and left her office.

She watched him walk away. It was almost surreal, the disconnect between the House on the transcript—sad, needy, lovesick—and the sarcastic, rude, taunting man who had just been in her office.

But that's House, she thought. His hurt and pain manifests as anger.

She needed to remind herself that when he was landing direct blows. The crueler he is, the more he hurts.

She opened up her computer. There was one more transcript on file. House's follow up session, last Thursday. She put her cursor on the file and clicked.


	2. Chapter 2

**Transcript of session with patient Dr. Gregory House, April 27, 2011**.

Preliminary notes: The patient arrives a few minutes late. As usual, his demeanor is a study in contradiction: His posture is edgy, almost accusatory. But his eyes betray a nearly child-like hope. This clinician believes that, despite his defense mechanisms, the patient genuinely wants to get better. He wants to believe.

N: If you don't mind, I want to start today by picking up on something you said at the end of our last session.

H: Of course! Because why move forward when there are so many more billable hours to be earned by looking back?

N: I actually think this will be helpful.

H: You think it will be profitable. But knock yourself out.

N: Last time you were here you said that the therapy must've worked because Cuddy fell in love with you.

H: So?

N: What did you mean by that?

H: It's a pretty straight forward equation. Before therapy she wasn't with me, after therapy she was.

N: I'm asking you why.

[Note: As always, patient looks uncomfortable before becoming sincere. . .a pattern observed throughout therapy.]

H: I guess because it made me more . . normal.

N: Normal how?

H: I don't know. Less of a freak. Less of a social leper. If I knew for sure I wouldn't be here, now would I?

N: You think you're a social leper?

H: I'm not exactly Mr. Congeniality.

N: Fair enough. You also talked about an 'emotional experience' the two of you shared together.

H: Your penchant for quoting me back to me is rather disturbing, you know that Nolan?

N: Sorry. I record and transcribe all sessions. It's part of my process. . . . What kind of emotional experience?

H: There was this girl. She was trapped under a building. She was afraid to amputate her leg. I told her that two functioning legs were kind of meaningless in the scheme of things when the rest of your life sucked.

N: That's a pretty big confession on your part.

H: That's me. A wide open book.

N: Was that all?

H: No, the patient. . . she died. Cuddy and I were both pretty broken up about it. So I guess we. . .took comfort in each other.

N: She appreciated your openness and vulnerability?

H: Chicks dig a man who's sensitive.

N: Why couldn't you share that kind of vulnerability with her when she got sick?

H: She didn't need me to be vulnerable when she got sick. She needed me to be strong.

N: Maybe the two of you could've shared your fears together, taken comfort in each other then, too.

H: She's not a lesbian, Nolan! She wants a man.

N: So what? You think real men don't cry?

H: Yes, I actually am that much of a cliché. No, I just . . .I suck at comforting people. I make everything worse.

N: Cuddy needed her boyfriend.

H: I know. And that's why I took the vicodin.

N: She needed the real you. All of you.

H: I'll keep that in mind the next time I think the woman I love is dying of cancer.

N: What I'm trying to say is. . .

[Patient's phone rings. He looks at it for a second.]

H: Excuse me.

N: There's a clear sign in my lobby that says 'No cell phones.'

H: There's also one that says, 'Let a smile be your umbrella.' I ignored that one too.

[Patient talks into the phone]: Uh huh. I already told you that was a dumb idea. Fine. Hey, it's your neck on the line. Have a nice life.

[Patient hangs up.]

H: Sorry about that.

N: Who was that?

H: That was my, uh, wife.

N: I'm sorry. I could swear you just said your wife.

H: Funny story that . . .

N: You're married?

H: A marriage of convenience. A Green Card type deal.

N: To whom?

H: Angelina Jolie. Brad said he didn't mind. . .

[Patient waits for a reaction. When it doesn't come, he sighs and continues.]

H: Her name is Dominika. She's a. . .licensed cosmetologist-slash-professional escort-slash-housekeeper from the Ukraine.

N: Where did you two meet?

H: At the bar of the hotel where I was living at the time.

N: You were living at a hotel?

H: Yeah. Just a brief period of unchecked debauchery to get me through the breakup.

N: Unhealthy impulse, House.

H: Au contraire. Very healthy impulse. I didn't mope. I didn't sit around crying in my beer. I partied for a week and got on with my life.

N: Some parties can very lonely.

H: Even a lonely party beats a few days stuck inside my own head.

N: I understand. You slept with hookers during this stay?

H: Why? Do you think they're covered by my insurance?

N: Very funny, House. . . So this Dominika person?

H: I was going to bang her, but then she told me her sob story and I hatched my brilliant plan.

N: To marry a strange Ukrainian hooker so she can get her Green Card?

H: It seems slightly less brilliant when you put it like that.

N: When did you marry her?

H: About. . .four days later.

N: So less than two weeks after you broke up with Cuddy?

H: Of course! It would be awkward to get married when I was still with Cuddy.

N: But why?

H: Just doing a solid for my new friend.

N: Try harder, House.

[Patient sighs; fiddles with his cane.]

H: I suppose I convinced myself that it was for the free cooking, cleaning, and sex. . .but since she has thus far procured none of those things, I admit I'm beginning to second guess myself.

N: Does Cuddy know about the marriage?

H: Know? She attended the blessed event.

N: Cuddy came to the wedding?

H: Um, part of it.

N: So you got married just out of. . .spite?

H: I wouldn't put it quite like that.

N: How would you put it?

H: I don't know.

N: You must know. And don't tell me it was for the free housekeeping.

H: I guess I. . .wanted to prove something to her.

N: Prove what?

H: That I was. . .the kind of guy who got married.

N: A sort of, "All this could've been yours, baby" type deal?

H: Something like that.

N: Interesting.

H: You have no idea how much I hate when you say that.

N: You were going to propose to her, weren't you?

H: I did propose to her.

N: I meant Cuddy.

H: I know who you meant . . .

[Patient hangs his head, pauses for a long time.]

H: Yes, the thought of proposing to Dr. Cuddy had crossed my mind.

Cuddy's breath caught in her throat. She stopped reading for a second and closed her eyes tightly. Then she exhaled and continued.

N: Had you bought a ring?

H: No, it hadn't gotten that far. But I. . .had this revelation, you know?

N: What kind of revelation?

H: You see, I had lost a patient.

N: Which doesn't happen to you very often.

H: No, it doesn't. And you'll be shocked to find out that I tend to get a little obsessive when it does. But not this time. Because what I realized was: None of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was. . my life with Cuddy and Rachel.

N: And that was when you considered proposing.

H: Like I said, nothing was planned. It was just an idea I was toying with. I thought maybe we could all on vacation together, as a family, you know? And that I would propose then. But . . .you know what they say about the best laid plans. Or in my case, the best NOT getting laid plans.

N: I'm sorry House.

H: Yeah, well, that's what I get for hoping, right?

N: Hope is a good thing.

H: Hope kicks you in the nads.

N: Not always.

H: Fifty-two years of experience has told me otherwise.

N: So Dr. Cuddy breaks your heart and you retaliate by shoving a bogus marriage in her face.

H: You make me sound like a dick.

N: No comment.

H: I knew there was a reason I liked you, Nolan.

N: Why do you think she came to the wedding?

H: Because I asked her to. I think she thought she was doing me a favor. She was tip-toeing around me after the breakup. Trying to be super nice.

N: She came to the wedding to be nice to you?

H: Why else?

N: I honestly don't know. So do you think the wedding hurt her?

H: You haven't met her. She's Teflon. Nothing gets to her. But that night. . .maybe. Maybe I got to her a little.

N: How do you know?

H: She left the room. Had to hide in the bedroom. Naturally, Dudley Do-Right went to comfort her.

N: Dr. Wilson?

H: Yeah.

N: Did he tell you what she said?

H: No, just that she was upset. And determined not to cry.

N: How did that make you feel?

H: Like even more of an asshole.

N: But I thought the whole point of this wedding was to hurt her. Mission accomplished, right?

[Patient speaks quietly, almost to himself]:

H: Sometimes the revenge doesn't feel quite as sweet as you think it will.

N: And what about you and Dominika? Are you living together as man and wife?

H: Do you mean, have we boned? No. There's nothing quite like marrying a woman to shrink your boner.

N: Why do you do that, House?

H: I apologize. We have not MADE LOVE because I can't get an ERECTION.

N: Not that. Why do you pretend things don't hurt you? Why do you pretend to be more cavalier than you actually are?

H: I honestly don't know what you're talking about.

N: You couldn't sleep with her because she was the weapon of your revenge against Cuddy. And sleeping with her would seem like a true betrayal.

H: If you say so.

N: Are you saying I'm wrong?

[Patient doesn't make eye contact.]

H: No.

N: So will you be seeing Dominika tonight?

H: Negative. That's what that phone call was all about. She's leaving tonight for Atlantic City. With her boyfriend. He's a bouncer at this club she goes to.

N: If she has a boyfriend, why couldn't he marry her?

H: Not sure. But I think the fact that his name is Dmitry Petrovic might be a clue.

N: So where do you go from here?

H: You tell me.

N: Any chance you can get out of the marriage?

H: Not without getting us both thrown in jail. And by both, I mean you and me. You're an accomplice now.

N: So you're stuck with her.

H: She's a non-factor in my life, Nolan. It's not an issue.

N: And what about Cuddy?

H: What about her?

N: Do you think it's an issue for Cuddy?

H: Cuddy doesn't care who I'm married to. She's moved on with her life.

N: You sure about that?

H: I'm positive.

N: I wouldn't be so sure House. But let's talk about it more next week.

#######

"That must be one helluva spread sheet."

Cuddy looked up from the transcript, embarrassed.

Wilson was standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets, smiling at her.

"It is," she said, trying to keep her voice breezy. "Compelling stuff."  
"Lunch?"

"Is it okay for you to be seen consorting the with enemy?" (Ever since the breakup, Wilson had been more or less avoiding her. She didn't really mind. House needed his friend.)

"You're not the enemy," Wilson said. Then he gave a guilty shrug. "And besides, House is at the bike shop."

Cuddy chuckled.

"Of course."

"Shall we?"

"Why not?"

At lunch, she picked at her chopped salad as Wilson lit into his turkey club.

"So how is House?" she asked, finally.

"He's okay. He's achieved a sort of a baseline of misery at this point, I'd say."

"Do you think he's . . .talking to anybody?"

"Like. . ._Taub_?"

"Like a therapist."

"No way. He's self-medicating with booze, pills, and hookers. . ." He looked up. "Sorry."

She shrugged.

So Wilson didn't know about Nolan. She didn't quite know how to take that.

"And how are _you_ feeling about things?" Wilson asked her.

"I'm confused," she admitted. "There's such a disconnect between how House acts and what he really feels."  
(Had she said too much? Would Wilson realize that she had accessed House's therapy sessions?)  
"Does anyone ever really know what House is thinking?" he said, musingly.

######

Cuddy lay in bed that night thinking about House.

Reading the transcript had left her feeling completely out of sorts—like she had opened some sort of suppurating wound she didn't even know existed.

She'd be lying if she said that she didn't sometimes regret her decision to break up with House. Even a moron knew it wasn't wise to make major life changes at a time of extreme emotional distress.

But House hadn't even given her time to feel remorse, to sit with her doubts. He had lashed out so swiftly and violently, it left her head spinning. It made her feel like she had done the right thing.

But now. . . reading the transcript. Her heart positively ached for him.

_I'll keep that in mind the next time I think the woman I love is dying of cancer._

And he wanted to _marry_ her?

The words played over and over again in her mind: _The only thing that mattered was my life with Rachel and Cuddy._

Rachel.

He'd brought Rachel up twice now in his therapy sessions. So he really did love her little girl. It's not that she hadn't noticed a bond forming between them. It was obvious to anyone who saw them together. But she'd always secretly suspected that if House had his druthers, Rachel would be out of the picture.

_She's a great kid. . . Of course I miss her_.

_We could all go on vacation together. . . as a family_.

Damn him.

She glanced at her clock. 10 pm. House would probably be in his living room, drinking scotch and reading a medical journal or maybe playing the piano.

She picked up the phone and dialed.

#####

"Wrong number," he said.

"House, it's me. . ."

"I know it's you Cuddy. It's 2011. They have this thing called Caller ID."

"I wanted to. . . talk. I feel like we never talk anymore."

"You feel that way because it's true. We never talk anymore."  
"I miss you."

"Are you drunk?"

"No."

"Oh too bad. That makes one of us."

"I was hoping that maybe I could. . . come over."

"What? Now?"

"Why not?"  
"You can't come over because I'm lying here in bed . . . with my _wife_."

She was so shocked and affronted by his words, she said something without thinking:

"That's a complete lie and I know that for a fact!"

There was a pause.

"How do you know that for a fact?"

Shit.

"I just do. I can tell by the tone of your voice that you're alone."  
"Nice try, Cuddy. How do you know Dominika isn't here for a _fact_?"

"Well, is she?"

"It's a moot point. Because you're not coming over."

And he hung up.

#####

The next day, over lunch, House said to Wilson: "Is Cuddy seeing Lucas again?"

Wilson practically choked on his ham sandwich.

"Lucas?"

"Yeah. . .She knew something about me she couldn't possibly know. Unless she was seeing that slimeball and having me followed."

"She has said nothing about Lucas, House. And besides, why would she have you followed?"

"Who knows? Maybe she's looking for some excuse to have me fired."

"Oh yes. Because she can't use any of the 100 legitimate reasons she already has to have you fired."

"And you're sure she's not seeing Lucas?"  
"House, unlike you, Cuddy is still nursing a broken heart. She's not going to do something as stupid as jump right back into the arms of an ex boyfriend."

House frowned.

"Huh," he said.

#######

Twenty minutes later, he was standing in Cuddy's office, with his arms folded.

"How did you know I was home alone last night?" he said, stubbornly.

Oh shit. She was hoping he would let this go. But who was she kidding? House never let anything go.

"I guess I didn't know. I guess I was hoping."

"Your exact words were: I know _for a fact_."

"Figure of speech."  
"Not really."  
He swallowed hard.

"Are you seeing Pucas again?"

She started.

"What? Of course not! No!"

"Then how did you know?"

"I don't know, House. Maybe it came to me in a dream."

Another mistake. Subconsciously echoing the words he had used to explain how she knew he was on vicodin.

But this time, it didn't seem to register.

"You wouldn't lie to me, would you?" he said.

Yes, she thought.

"No," she said.

"Okay."

And he nodded at her.  
#####

She was halfway home that night when she realized that that there was no way House believed her and that he was almost definitely going to snoop around her office.

(He was extremely good at sweet talking Lou the janitor into giving him the master key. Hell, at this point, he'd probably made a copy of the thing.)  
She swung her car around and sped back to the hospital.

She made her way briskly back to her office, her heels clicking hard against the linoleum floors.

But when she got there, it was too late.

House was sitting behind her desk, with her computer open, a stunned look on his face.

"Cuddy, how could you?" he said when he saw her.

"I . . can explain!" she said.

But that was a lie. She couldn't explain. Because there was no explanation. Nothing could justify what she had done.

"Did you get your jollies? Did you get off on reading how fucked up I am?"

"No! House, it's not like that."

"Poor House, pathetic loser whining to Dr. Nolan about his broken heart. How very satisfying this all must be to you."  
She closed her eyes, tried to fight back the tears.

"No. . . it's not. I want you to be happy."

"Did you laugh at me? Read the transcript to Julia? Highlight your favorite parts?"  
"Of course not! Nobody saw it but me."

"How can I believe a word that you EVER SAY AGAIN, Cuddy?"

"What I did was wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong. There's no excuse for it. But I did it because I care about you. I just needed to know that you were okay."

He glared at her.

"I could have you fired for this," he shouted. "I could go straight to the medical board and have you fired."

She'd never seen him so angry. His face was bright red.

"I know," she said, feebly.

"You think I won't do it but I will," he said.

"That's within your rights."

"You're pathetic, you know that Cuddy?" he spat.

And he slammed her laptop shut and limped quickly past her—he was moving so fast so she had to jump out of his way— and didn't look back at her again.


	3. Chapter 3

"And get this, his stage name is . . . Sparkles!" Wilson reported gleefully.

"Interesting," House said, not looking up.

"_Interesting?_" Wilson said, nearly beside himself. "I just told you that the head of OB-GYN at Jersey Memorial spends his weekends performing as a drag queen named Sparkles and all you can muster is _interesting_?"

House shrugged.

"I said it was interesting because it's interesting. Although I would've gonna with Gina Cology myself."

Wilson folded his arms.

"Okay, what gives?"

"It's a play on Gynecology. . ."

"Not talking about the drag name. You've been acting weird all day. And you've barely touched your lunch. . . or, more alarmingly, _my_ lunch. What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I'm just not hungry."

"Okay, now I _know_ something's bothering you."

House looked at him cautiously, hesitated.

"If I tell you something do you promise not to get that annoyingly gassy look on your face you get when you feel like you've been a good influence on me?"

"I can make no such promise," Wilson said.

House sighed a bit.

"I've been seeing Nolan again," he said, taking a sip of his Coke.

"House! That's wonderful ! That's just . ." Wilson felt his own enthusiasm bubbling up and he tried to temper it. "That's great," he said more evenly. "So is that why you're upset? Rough session? Is Nolan picking at some uncomfortable scabs?"

"First of all, no. Second of all, ew."

"Then what?"

"It has to do with Cuddy."

"Well, knock me over with a feather."

House shot him a dirty look, then continued:

"You know that fancy new hospital file sharing program we signed up for?"

"Yeah. . ."

"It allows top administrators to access patient files. _All _patient files."

House looked up, to see if Wilson was following him. He wasn't.

"Cuddy read the transcripts of my sessions with Nolan."

"No way."

"Yes way."

"Cuddy wouldn't do that."

"And yet, she did."

Suddenly, Wilson gave a grim laugh.

"What's so fucking funny?" House said.

"Well, you've got to at least appreciate the irony of this _a little_."

"What irony?"

"_You_ read Stacy's therapy file."

"Of course you'd bring that up," House said.

"Seemed relevant," Wilson countered.

"That was totally different," House said, defensively.

"Oh yeah. How so?"

"Because. . ."

"Yes?" Wilson said, teasingly. "I'm waiting."

"Because . . .it was predictable behavior on my part," House said.

"So you're saying Stacy should've taken extra measures to hide her patient files, knowing that you were obsessed with her?"

"I'm saying that I always do reckless, insensitive, ill-advised things like that. Cuddy, on the other hand. . .doesn't."

"You got me there. So why do you think she did it?"

"I dunno. Morbid curiosity? _Schadenfreude_?"

"You think Cuddy takes pleasure in your misery?"

"I can't think of any other reason she'd want to read my file."

"Why did you read Stacy's file?"

"To find out how she felt about me. . .about us."

"Huh," Wilson said knowingly.

And the two men stared at each other.

######

Cuddy had tried calling House all weekend, but he never picked up.

She left three voicemail messages—the first a simple "please call me"; the second, a fumbling attempt at an apology ("I know there's nothing I can say to make this right, but at least let me try"); the third, a rather rambling series of excuses ("you never talk to me anymore"; "I feel like we've become strangers"; "I just had to know where your head was at")—before finally giving it up as a lost cause.

And she felt like shit.

It wasn't so much that she worried he might actually report her to the review board (although she kind of deserved it). House was many things. A narc wasn't one of them.

It wasn't even that she felt guilty over betraying him—although she did.

Mostly, she was worried that her snooping was going to mess with his therapy. House going back to therapy was the bravest, smartest thing he had done in a long while. She was proud of him. And if her recklessness had somehow affected that, she'd never forgive herself.

So she did something stupid, even if she did it for the right reason.

She looked up Nolan's records to see if House had shown for his Monday session.

Once again, she typed GREGORY HOUSE into the patient search engine.

She waited for the long transcript to show up on her screen.

Would House send her coded messages though his conversation with Nolan? Lash out at her directly? Make up cruel lies just to hurt her feelings?

She would never find out. When the page opened, it read:

ACCESS DENIED.

#####

Several hours earlier, House showed up for his Monday session with Nolan.

He sat down, his long legs stretched out in front of him, and gave Nolan a leery look.

"What's wrong?" Nolan said.

"Nothing," House said. "But I need a favor."

Nolan furrowed his brow.

"I'm not a genie. I'm a psychiatrist."

"I didn't ask for a wish, I asked for a favor."

"What kind of favor?"

"I need you to stop uploading our sessions to the hospital mainframe."

"That's standard procedure House. We have this new file. . ."

"I know. A new file sharing system. But the thing is, I don't want my files accessed."

"They can't be accessed by just anyone. There are channels to go through. You need a passcode."

"And who has those passcodes?"

Nolan stared at him.

"Head administrators," he said, getting it. "You're worried that Dr. Cuddy is going to read your files. I understand your concerns, House. But Dr. Cuddy is a professional. I can say with complete confidence that she would never. . ."

"Don't be so sure," House said sharply.

Nolan did a bit of a doubletake.

"She _read _your files?"

"Indeed. She said Forrest Whitaker could play you in the movie version."

"I like to think of myself more as a Denzel Washington type," Nolan said. Then he regained focus. "That's a horrible breach of ethics and hospital protocol. She could get fired."

"She could get fired if either of us reported her. Which, of course, neither of us are going to do, _right?_"

"I'm honor-bound to . . ."

"Nolan, if you even think of reporting her I will make your life a living hell," House snarled. "I swear to you, you have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Are you threatening me?"

"I'm just being honest. Isn't that what therapy is all about?"

There was a tense silence.

"Okay, I won't report her," Nolan said finally. Then he cocked his head: "You're awfully protective of a woman who just violated your most sacred privacy."

House shrugged.

"I'm no narc," he said, folding his arms. "And I don't associate with them, either."

"Understood," Nolan said. "And I'll make sure our transcripts are protected by a passcode that she has no possible access to."

"Thank you," House said, his voice softening a bit.

"So. . . this kind of dovetails nicely with what I was planning on talking about with you today anyway."

"How little you look like Denzel Washington?"

"Dr. Cuddy—and her feelings for you."

"Oh . . . that."

"So why do you think she read your transcripts?"

"I honestly have no clue," House said.

"You must have some theories."

"Mostly, I've been replaying our sessions in my mind. On a scale from 1 to Wilson, exactly how pathetic do I come across?"

"Not pathetic at all House. It takes strength to ask for help."

"And less strength to whine like a little bitch."

"Has she apologized to you? Tried to explain herself?"

"I haven't really given her the opportunity. She, uh, left me a few voicemail messages."

"And what did she say?"

"That she wanted an all-access pass to my head."

"Why would she want that?"

"I have no idea."

"House. . .remember when we talked about the beginning of your relationship with Cuddy?"

"You're such a pervert, Dr. Nolan. If you have a copy of The Kama Sutra in the office it might go more smoothly this time."

Nolan, as ever, ignored him.

"You expressed some concern that, since the relationship started under such extreme and emotional conditions, it might be less than solid."

"Yeah . . . so?"

"What about your breakup? Wasn't that under extreme and emotional conditions, too?"

House shrugged.

"Is there any chance that the breakup isn't quite as solid as you think?" Nolan asked.

"It's pretty solid. What with me getting married and all."

"Exactly House! You didn't even give Dr. Cuddy a chance to have second thoughts, to reconsider her decision."

"I begged her not to do it," House said. "But her mind was already made up."

"And where were you the next day—or two days later—if Dr. Cuddy wanted to sit down and talk?"

"Objection!" House said, in a booming courtroom voice. "Leading the witness!"

"You were at the hotel, right? Numbing yourself with porn, pills, and prostitutes."

"Nice alliteration, doc."

"You didn't exactly create an environment for reconciliation, did you."

"How many times have I told you: There wasn't going to be any reconciliation!" House said. He was a shouting now. Nolan had obviously touched a nerve.

"How do you know that?"

"Because. . . she was sure," House said, his voice quieting.

"And I repeat: How do you know that?"

"Because. . .I predicted it."

"You predicted that Dr. Cuddy would have a health scare and you'd take a vicodin?"

"Don't be cute. You know what I mean. I predicted that she'd come to her senses and break up with me."

"So when she told you she loved you, she was being irrational. But when she broke up with you, she was being sensible."

House jiggled his leg a bit.

"Something like that."

"You never really felt safe in the relationship, did you?"

"Does anyone ever really feel safe in a relationship?"

"Yes House. People do all the time."

"Well, good for them," he muttered.

"You told me last week that you married this Dominka person to prove to Cuddy you were the marrying kind."

"So?"

"Isn't it also possible you married her to put the final nail in the coffin with Cuddy? To make reconciliation impossible?"

"Why wouldn't I want to reconcile with Dr. Cuddy? That's crazy. That's all I've ever wanted."

"And yet you created a scenario where reconciliation was virtually impossible."

House was quiet for a long time. He rested his head in his hands.

"I'm an idiot," he said.

"You are skilled at self-sabotage, I give you that."

"Thanks for cheering me up," House said.

"I'm not here to cheer you up. I'm here to give you insight into your behavior."

"Which is the behavior _of an idiot_."

Nolan gave a sad smile.

"I want to get back to Cuddy and the transcripts. You said she was looking for an all-access pass to your head. In other words, she also wanted insight into your behavior. Which I'm sure she found baffling and hurtful."

"She knows me too well to be baffled by my behavior. Cuddy knows I tend to. . .lash out when hurt."

"Intellectually, she may know that. Emotionally, maybe she's not so sure. In a strange way, House, reading those transcripts might've been good for her."

"How so?"

"To see that you miss her. That you still love her. . ."

"She already knows those things," House said, stubbornly.

"What convinced her the most?" Nolan said, musingly. "All the whores you slept with? Or the one that you married?"

######

That night, several hours after Rachel had gone to bed, there was a knock on Cuddy's door.

The only person who knocked on her door this time of night was House. But he wasn't even speaking to her.

She peered through the peephole. Damned if he wasn't standing in her doorway, dressed in a black tee-shirt and dark jeans, looking on edge.

She literally had no idea what to expect. Had he come to accept her apology? To yell at her? To threaten her job again?

Tentatively, she opened the door.

"I have some questions for you," he said, stepping inside.

"What kind of questions?"

"Important questions. Do you promise to answer them honestly?"

"Of course."

"I'm serious Cuddy. . .will you listen to my questions and _really_ answer them honestly? As if I weren't in the room?"

And in that moment she understood. _As if I weren't in the room_. Just like had honestly answered all of Nolan's questions about her.

"I'll try, House," she said sincerely.

"Good," he said. There was something slightly restless in his behavior. Like he was determined to carry out this mission, no matter what the consequences.

"Can I get you a drink?" she said.

He rubbed his pants legs.

"No, I'm good."  
"Do you mind if I have a drink?" she said with a slight chuckle. "You're making me a little nervous."

He nodded, and warily watched her as she poured herself a glass of white wine.

He had already sat down on the couch and she was about to sit beside him, but something in his body language suggested she should sit across from him, in the arm chair.

He looked at her, cleared his throat once she sat. She folded her hands in her lap.

"Why did you attend my wedding to Dominika?" he said, all business.

"Whoa. Can't we ease into that kind of question?" she joked. "Maybe ask me favorite color first?"

"It's red," he said, matter-of-factly. "Why did you attend my wedding to Dominika?" he repeated.

Cuddy exhaled a bit.

"At the time, I told myself I was humoring you," she said.

"And now?"

She ran her hand through her hair.

"Now. . .I think I . . . I wanted to prove to you that you weren't getting to me."

"_Was_ I getting to you?"

"More than I was willing to admit."

"And how did the wedding make you feel?"

"Wow. You really _have_ been in therapy," she chuckled.

He folded his arms, not amused.

"I felt hurt and betrayed and humiliated. And I . . . wondered how you had managed to stop loving me so quickly."

He started to say something and then stopped.

"Why did you read the transcripts?" he said.

"Because. . .I wanted some insight into your behavior after the breakup," she said. "Which I found increasingly hurtful and alienating."

She felt awkward, sitting there, as he gazed at her stoically. But if she felt vulnerable—naked, exposed—it served her right. House had unwittingly poured his heart out to her. The least she could do was sit here and take his inquisition.

"Did you really believe I had stopped loving you?"

"I didn't want to believe it. But I thought . . yes. That you were so angry that you had actually turned against me. That a switch had flipped in your heart."

House looked lost in thought for a second. Then he regained focus.

"Did you regret breaking up with me?" he said, still all business.

"Not at first," she admitted.

His eyes widened.

"No?" he said.

"I missed you," she replied. "More than I can say. But your behavior after the breakup was so. . ._extreme_. You didn't give me a chance to regret my decision. All I could do was shield myself from the blows."

"You said not at first . . ." he said.

"Ironically, after I read the transcripts of your sessions with Nolan I felt differently."

"How so?"

"I saw how much I hurt you. And how much you . . . loved me. I never knew you were thinking of proposing, House."

She looked at him, hoping they could stop this charade and really talk to each other—but he was still in interview mode.

"And how did that make you feel?"

"Relieved that you still loved me. But also sad. Horribly, horribly sad."

"Why sad?"

"Because we fucked it up, House. We had something great and we both fucked it up."

"Do you still miss me?" he said.

"Yes," she said.

He inhaled a bit.

"What about me do you miss?"

She closed her eyes, thought about it for a second.

"I miss. . .the way you made me feel, the way you made me laugh. I miss having your arms around me at night. I miss kissing you. I miss making love to you." She smiled girlishly, as if reflecting on a memory. "I miss our secret looks when we're at the hospital. I miss our verbal sparring, believe it or not. I miss watching you play with Rachel. I miss hearing you play piano. I miss . . .you."

He was not able to keep up his own clinical mask. Watching the woman he loved reflecting on how much she missed him, with a dreamy, beautiful smile on her face—it was almost more than he could take.

"Do you still love me?" he said, blinking at her.

"Yes," she said honestly.

He stood up, limped toward her, lifted her chin.

"Do you still want me?" he said, swallowing hard.

She felt the heat radiating off his body. Her eyes were level with his stomach and the top of this leather belt, and she found herself fixated on the tiniest bit of skin that was exposed between his tee-shirt and his jeans.

"Yes," she whispered, closing her eyes.

He bent toward her. She felt his lips on her eyelids. Then, gently, on her mouth.

"I still love you," he whispered, nuzzling against her. "I still want you."

"I know. . ." she said.

"What are we going to do about that?" he asked.

"I don't know."

He kissed her again, this time parting her lips with his own, tasting her tongue.

"This is madness," he said. "We should be together."

His mouth was on her neck now, and moving toward her chest. He began planting pillowy kisses on the top of her breasts, where her bra met the creamy part of her skin.

She felt her own desire welling up, but she tried to suppress it so she could focus.

"You're married," she said.

"A marriage of convenience to a woman who means nothing to me," he said., starting to unbutton her shirt. His hands—she'd always loved his hands, pianists hands, strong and long and nimble—were migrating to her breasts, to her waist, to her ass. His motions were fervent now, lustful. He was beginning to make little groaning sounds.

"You hurt me," she said, lamely.

"And you hurt me," he said. He took her hands and placed them on his own hips, then guided them to his ass. She felt her fingers involuntarily kneed his ass, dig into his pants.

She stood up, to kiss him more deeply and press herself against him and take off his shirt, because she couldn't help herself, she needed his hot skin against hers. And that was all the incentive he needed to scoop her up, carry her to the bedroom.

"Let's never hurt each other again," he breathed, as he eased himself onto her.

"Okay," she said. And she let out a shivery moan of pleasure.

#####

**June 1, 2011**

**Transcript of session with patients Gregory House and Lisa Cuddy.**

Notes: This is the patients' third session together and they've already made substantial progress. House is learning to open up, allowing himself to be more vulnerable. Cuddy is learning to appreciate how hard House is trying and taking great pains to make him feel more safe in their relationship.

Body language is key in couples therapy and theirs is promising. When they sit, their legs are always touching—a united front. When they address each other, they make eye contact. Sometimes, he takes her hand, bends toward her. They seem very much in love.

For the purposes of this transcript, I will refer to myself (clinician) as N, Dr. House as H, and Dr. Lisa Cuddy as C.

N: How's the outpatient rehab going?

H: 18 days sober. They've given me a coin, which is useless because it doesn't buy anything.

C: He has it in his pocket right now.

H: Do not!

C: I'm very proud of him.

[H smiles. He is proud of himself, too.]

N: And how is it going between you two?

[H and C look at each other.]

C: Great.

H: Extremely great.

N: Are you working on the exercises I gave you?

H: Yeah, but I still don't understand why you told us to do push-ups.

[C laughs. Her self-assigned role in therapy is to focus him when he makes jokes or strays off subject. She is comfortable in this role. In fact, she seems to relish it.]

C: Yes, we have been working on the exercises.

N: Give me some examples.

C: Well, last Friday I wanted House to attend a cocktail party with me at the home of one of our boardmembers. House told me he'd rather be waterboarded then hang out with boardmembers.

N: And?

C: And . . . that's it. [Laughs.] Hey, that's progress. Two months ago, he would've said he was going to go and then devised some elaborate scheme to blow it off.

H: It's true. I would have.

N: So he didn't go to the cocktail party and you were okay with that?

C: No, he went.

[Patients exchange a knowing look.]

C: I made it worth his while.

H: Indeed she did.

[Patients blush.]

N: Hey, whatever works. So what about your living arrangement? Is House still spending most nights at your place?

C: Yes.

N: And what about that Dominika person?

C: May I just state, for the record, how much I love that you always call her "that Dominika person"?

H: We had the marriage annulled.

N: Where does that leave Dominika?

C: On a plane back to the Ukraine!

[The patients high five.]

N: Any potential legal fall-out for you, House?

H: I hired expensive lawyers. So looks like the only fall out for me will be financial.

N: Good. Sounds like things are really going well. So what's next?

H: Next week, we're taking a trip to Cape Cod.

C: My sister's beach house.

N: Sounds romantic. Just the two of you?

H: No. Rachel is coming too.

C: Yeah. [Looks at H. Take his hand.] The whole family.

THE END


End file.
